Happiness
by GlowingHazelEyes
Summary: "I remember the day he died. It was a sunny weekend morning, and he was on his way to my house. I was planning on telling him my feelings that day. I was going to tell him that I loved him much more than a friend. But when do things ever go as planned?" Warning: Slash, character death, some language, drug and alcohol abuse, self-harm, and suicide. Slight Bunny and Style. ONESHOT.


**Hey guys! I've been horrible with updating my in progress Soul Eater story, and I am so sorry about that. I'll get better with it, promise. This has just been a bad new year so far…  
Anyways, I felt the urge to write a sad Style one-shot, and this is what I came up with. I hope you like it.**

I collapsed on the bed, ready to start my regular afternoon activities. I'll call that one person over and over again to just to hear the voicemail, then I'll begin to cry and curl up and watch old 'Terrance and Phillip' reruns with some sort of alcohol in my hand, pretending he was by my side, as if that was going to fill the gaping hole in my heart. After I'm good and tipsy, but not yet drunk, I'll attempt to work on homework or eat something that is a semi-decent size. It never works though, and I always end up giving up. I'll settle into the bath tub, where I make sure the water is either scorching hot or freezing cold, but never in the middle. I'll take something in with me, whether it's my pocket knife, drugs, or more alcohol. I'll stay locked in the bathroom until I'm high, tired, wasted, or bleeding profusely from my wrists. Then I'll clean up, and take my anti-depressants that do nothing but make me more tired and fall asleep. Yep, that's my routine.

Gripping a familiar green ushanka in my hand, I dialed his number and held my phone up to my ear.

_Hey, you've just reached Kyle Broflovski, sorry that I missed your call. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Unless you're Stan, in which case you'll probably just call repeatedly until I answer. _There was a joking laugh. _And Cartman, if that's you, hang up and leave me alone fat ass._

There was a beep, and I dragged my phone away from my ear just to redial the number and listen to the voicemail again. He always did know me better than anyone else. If I wanted to talk to him, I wouldn't stop calling until he answered his phone. Maybe that's why I call him all the time, even though I know there won't be an answer. I can't get rid of the hope that swells up inside me every time I call, hope that I'll hear his voice again and not this recording. But this recording is the only way I can hear him anymore. I swallowed heavily, feeling the tears already begin to sting the back of my eyes. Leaving his hat on my bed, I threw my phone on my dresser, flinching at the loud thump, and went downstairs.

I hated this house so much. It was always so empty. No one would ever be here but Randy. I refuse to call that babbling abusive drunk my dad. Grandpa died a couple years ago, Shelley moved out, and Mom divorced Randy and left to some other state, leaving me alone with this asshole. I suppose it isn't all bad though, he never cares about my horrid grades, and I can always count on being able to sneak some alcohol or drugs from him. It's not like he's ever short of any of it. I have to be kind of careful not to get caught though, because he'll beat me. For an unfocused, stoned druggie he can hit pretty hard, and he seems to know my weakest spots. If for some reason he caught me, I'll probably have a black eye before I go to sleep. It isn't that challenging to avoid though, he never has his head on straight anymore, and as long as I don't make my presence too noticeable he just ignores me. I don't even spare him a glance as I slip into the kitchen, snatching alcohol from the fridge and whatever drugs I can find in a little hidden cabinet by the sink. I also get some chips; although I doubt I'm gonna eat much. As I sneak back up to my room, I notice that that pervert is watching porn on the main television. Holding back a disgusted gag, I quietly race upstairs, locking my door behind me.

I sat on my bed, uncapping some whiskey as I turn on old 'Terrance and Phillip' reruns. Taking no joy in watching the show that I used to love, I shut it off and opened up the chips as I set some homework on my lap. After a couple moments of blank staring and unsatisfied munching, I once again give up and swallow down over half the whiskey bottle, dumping my books and the chips on the floor. Stumbling around my room, I grab a pair of boxers and a pocket knife. I clamber over to my bathroom, once again locking up behind me. Dropping my boxers on the counter and the knife on the bath tub lip, I strip naked in front of the mirror, braving a look at myself.

My raven-colored hair is tangled and unkempt, pupils huge and eyes glassy with black bags under them. I'm incredibly skinny, way underweight. Bones jut out all over my body, looking so sharp that they could cut right through my bruised and scarred skin. The sight makes me sick. Turning away from the mirror, I fill up the bathtub with water. Today it's freezing cold. Once it's full, I shut off the water and slowly slip inside. I try my best to hold in my shivers from the cold, but it doesn't work too well. Staring pointedly at my wrists, I grasp blindly for my pocket knife, unfolding it once it's in my hand. I wonder about how it got so bad as I shiver and cut jaggedly into my wrist.

_Slice._

I still remember the day he died. It was a bright sunny weekend morning, and he was on his way to my house from the ice rink where he'd dropped off Ike. I was planning on telling him my feelings that day. I was going to tell him that I loved him much more than a friend. On the way to my house though, Kyle ran into some psycho with a gun, who mercilessly shot him right in his temple, robbed the dead body of any money, and ran off. Kyle's promising life was snatched away from him for something as stupid as a couple bucks.

_Slice._

I remember how devastated I was once I heard the news. That was also the day of my first suicide attempt. Gerald had come over, sitting Mom, Randy, and me down as he explained as to why Sheila was home with Ike, both sobbing their eyes out. He had handed me Kyle's hat and quietly whispered that he knew Kyle would want me to have it. I remember sitting, staring blankly at the hat in my hands long after Gerald left and my parents drifted off to bed, lightly touching the hole in one of the ear flaps that must have been from the bullet. After a moment, I completely lost it and disappeared into my room crying. The pain in my heart was so intense, and I couldn't think straight as I grabbed the gun that Uncle Jimbo had given me for my 15th birthday and struggled to turn the safety off. My mom and Randy had woken from the racket I made and followed me into my room and saw me struggling with the safety on the gun, screaming in frustration. The shock on their faces would have been funny in almost any other circumstance. Randy had wrestled the gun away from me as my mom wrapped me in her arms and pulled me down to the floor, crying along with me and rubbing my back soothingly as she slowly rocked me back and forth. I remember repeating 'I want to die. I just want to die,' over and over, the sound muffled in my mom's shoulder.  
That was a really long night.

_Slice._

After that, my life crumbled even more. I was forced to get a psychiatrist, although the sessions with him never helped, only left me with a headache. My grades suffered immensely, and I was constantly pushing people away. Mom always looked at me with such disappointment. I hated it. So I decided that I would get my grades up, lessen her disappointment in me. But I went about it all the wrong way. Poor Butters was thrown into such a world of hurt just because he was relatively smart and weak. I had taken the gullible boy aside one day and beaten him until he agreed to do all my school work for me. My grades had improved because of Butters, although my mom didn't know that. She thought I was starting to get my shit together. Some of her disappointment disappeared, and was replaced with patience. After a while though, Butters accidently blabbed to Kenny. I had never seen the blond boy so enraged. He had stormed over; yelling about how I was a horrible asshole for doing such a thing to Butters, and delivered a punch to my face with so much force that it almost knocked some of my teeth out. He hadn't talked to me since. My mom overheard what Ken had said, and it was the last straw for her. She had only stayed with Randy and me in hope that I would eventually get better. After that scenario, she packed up and left. Randy became a druggie and constant drunk afterwards. Word had passed around school, and everyone began to avoid me. Not that I can blame them at all, but it still hurt.  
I'm so selfish.

_Slice._

I got into drugs, alcohol, and cutting quickly after that. I quit playing sports altogether, and hardly ever attended school. I only went enough times to keep any stupid child protective services off my back. I had quickly formed a new routine that I still stick to. I never talked to anyone. I was- no, am completely alone.

_Slice._

I think about how no one would miss me if I was gone. No one would care. No one would cry at my funeral.  
Hell, no one would probably attend.

_Slice._

The water in the tub was tinged deep red. Typically this is when I would stop and clean up, but tonight was different…

_Slice._

More blood poured from my alternately cut wrists as I realized why tonight was different.  
Tonight I was actually going to kill myself.

_Slice._

At this rate, I would bleed to death in no time. My sight was going blurry, and I was feeling lightheaded from loss of blood.

_Slice._

I hesitated for a moment, thinking about Randy finding me like this; before I realized that I didn't give a rat's ass. He would probably be angry at me for leaving him to clean up my mess, but nothing else. An insane chuckle came from my throat at the thought.

_Slice._

I gulped and bit my lip as I slid the knife harshly into my wrist, severing an artery. I felt a sharp wave of pain, and let a strangled choke escape my throat.

_One last slice…_

_I'll be seeing you soon Kyle. I've missed you so much._


End file.
